Amon Hen
by The Desert Stallion
Summary: A 1,000 word one shot of Frodo's battle with the Dark Power on Amon Hen. Original ending to Over the Edge, but not anymore. Enjoy.


When that dreadful moment came and drove the reason from the Walker's mind, and fear drove the Ringbearer to flee, Frodo felt his feet carry him up to a high stone chair wrapped in the Ring's dark mists. And here at Amon Hen he fought for his world.

From where he stood in his own high place, Olórin could clearly see Frodo's desperate, huddled little form cowering against the Seat of Seeing, on Amon Hen. The freshly rejuvenated wizard watched in alarm as the hobbit's gaze was dragged eastward, straight into that black ash known as Mordor, past the Black Gate and straight into the fire and smoke of the Dark Lord. Olórin struggled to call out and warn Frodo, to reach to him with hands of white, but his earthly voice abandoned him for an agonizing time.

He sensed that evil growing within Baradur, as it suddenly perceived Frodo's presence, and he felt the earth heave beneath him as it stretched out black tendrils to the tiny creature shivering on the stone. Olórin hardened his gaze and interposed, thrusting Sauron's search away, to Amon Lhaw. The Dark Lord pressed stubbornly on to Tol Brandir, and filled the wizard's head with a terrible hissing screech of rage. Again he turned his lidless Eye to Amon Hen, and again the Maia in White pushed back hard, the two wills coming together in titanic clash, blinding light and crushing darkness.

In the ethereal world of the Ring, beneath and between the mighty powers, Frodo struggled against himself and his burden. "Never! Never!" he shrieked into the howling whirlwind when the voice beckoned him to the darkness. The swirling black clouds rose up to choke him, sapping away his resolve, weakening him, corrupting him. He was falling then in a sensation no words could describe…as It pulled at him, commanding him… "Verily, I come, I come to you," his dry lips whispered.

With a roar of anger, Olórin redoubled his efforts; all Middle Earth could not afford to lose Frodo to the Ring; he would not let Sauron have the dear hobbit, not while he drew new breath. He summoned his strength and directed his light into the searching Eye, effectively blinding it. For a moment, only a moment, Frodo was open to him. "Take it off! Take it off! Fool, take it off! Take off the Ring!" Frodo's eyes cleared when he heard the voice, but the Dark One had returned and was pleading with him, promising, pressuring…

As Olórin threw himself into his battle with his dark brother, Frodo finally made his choice. He pulled the Ring from his finger, gave a small cry, vanished from Olórin's sight. The Maia would have smiled if he had the chance, but Sauron had lost the hobbit too, and hatefully probed against the West, passing straight over the terrified hobbit and coming to where Olórin stood.

The Dark Lord had relinquished hope of presently finding his Ring. He now would find this power that so firmly contested with him. Thunder and lightening rolled with impact of the Dark Lord and White Wizard, and Olórin shielded himself carefully under the great weight. The two Maia swirled around each other in spirit, like two great eagles in desperate struggle.

"Who are you?" the Dark Maia hissed, "that you would dare to come against me?" In Baradur, that Blackened Mind bent to its task with frightening intensity, close to piercing the veil Olórin had created. In reply, his opponent strengthened the cracking shield that held Sauron back.

"I am one who seeks your downfall, Sauron, and one who has sought this since I came to Middle Earth." Rage crackled in the air around him, and Olórin called on the support of the Valar for protection. Sauron muted his rumbling snarls.

Then, "Of the Istari? You cannot be Saruman, and certainly the others cannot resist me, much less turn me from my path." Haughty assurance played in his voice. So sure of himself, blinding himself, and suddenly Olórin saw the future, and he laughed. Manwe be thanked, but Sauron's surety would be his downfall; his pride would line his destruction.

"There was one who resisted you, Sauron," Olórin could see that Sauron remembered now. "Yes," he laughed again, "that old fool."

"Gandalf the Grey?" Sauron laughed as well, and the two laughs were as night and day. Where Olórin's laugh inspired joy, the Dark Lord inspired terror, but Olórin was not moved. "He resisted, even admirably, but he died for it. I felt him fall into shadow, and so did Saruman. He resisted life, and embraced death. The fool, you have said rightly." The probing grew stronger, and Olórin felt his shields weakening. The Valar did not wish him revealed just yet; he needed to leave. Frodo was safe.

"He resisted a living death, and chose life from death. You are the fool, Sauron. You will discover your folly before the end," Olórin began to pull away, to break the powerful connection.

""Gandalf the Grey is dead," Sauron insisted, holding to the last thin links. "You are not him. You are not Gandalf the Grey," he hissed as Olórin slipped away.

"Nay, I am not Gandalf the Grey," the noble one whispered, and cut himself completely away. The swirling mists were gone as quickly as they had come, and all was strangely silent in that place. He sagged wearily, triumphantly against his staff. "I am Gandalf the White."

The sky above him cleared of shadow, and the sun shone brightly. For a moment, Gandalf appeared to shine just as brilliantly, before he lowered the grey outer robe about his shoulders. Behind him, Galadriel pondered the shining guardian with faint awe. He smiled at her and stated softly, "My work here is done. Now for Shadowfax."

**Well, just a one shot that was originally going to finish my longer Gandalf story, but I ****decided on a different ending. ** **Enjoy**** Review if you wouldn't mind. Feeding the author is permitted. **


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